


With Just One Word

by Penjaculations



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale being oblivious, Crowley is a needy snek, M/M, implied sex, post not-apocalypse, sort of suggestive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 11:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penjaculations/pseuds/Penjaculations
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are enjoying each other's company when the demon decides he wants to spice things up.





	With Just One Word

They were at Crowley's flat- Aziraphale had been preferring Crowley's place over his own for their hangouts lately- and the demon was lounging on his couch, watching his angel. Aziraphale was beside him nose-deep in some book, reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose and eyes focused intently on the page.

Ordinarily Crowley could sit this way for hours and just watch him, happy to ignore the program on the TV in favor of something much more pleasing to look at, but today was different.

He was too sober, for one thing. And he wanted Aziraphale's attention, for another. He was feeling strangely needy, though he'd never admit such a thing, and it was such a strong, specific kind of need that it was currently impossible to ignore. He didn't just want the angel's attention, he wanted _him_, breathless and pliant and in his arms, crooning his name in that sweet way that always made his knees weak.

He had to do something about this predicament he was in or he was going to go mad.

"Aziraphale," he said, voice whisper soft. The angel didn't stir, didn't so much as glance up from his book. He was, for all intents and purposes, oblivious to the world around him. But Crowley was nothing if not ridiculously stubborn.

"Aziraphale," he repeated, slightly louder but still soft enough it could be considered a whisper. He even leaned over slightly, sitting up and curling in a way that looked almost awkward, to peer over Aziraphale's shoulder at his book. "You can't tell me that thing is more interesting than me."

Aziraphale blinked, but continued reading. "Do you need something, dear?"

_Yes_, Crowley wanted to say, _I need **you**_. But that would have ended the fun of his new game.

"_Aziraphale_," he said the angel's name like a prayer, and by all rights it might have been, in this moment at least.

The book was lowered half an inch at that, and Aziraphale turned to stare at Crowley with a questioning, earnest look on his face. 

"Darling?" He didn't even know what he was asking, only that he was asking _something_. 

Crowley, for his part, was pleased he'd made some progress, but it wasn't yet enough. He flopped back, stretching out across his side of the couch like a half-dressed damsel in a Renaissance painting. And stared pointedly at Aziraphale, raising an eyebrow.

"_Aziraphale_." This time the name was a breathless plea on his lips, a beckoning temptation he'd long ago given in to but hadn't yet had his fill of. Nor would he ever.

A pleasant redness blossomed on Aziraphale's cheeks, and suddenly the book was forgotten, pushed to the side in favor of whatever his lovely serpent had in mind.

_Perfect_, Crowley thought.

——————

The book remained forgotten for the rest of the evening and well into the next morning before Aziraphale, curls messy and tousled from sleep and other things, sat bolt upright in bed.

"I didn't mark my page!"

"You'll find it later, angel, the book isn't going anywhere," Crowley mumbled from the tangle of sheets, and Aziraphale let himself be pulled back down and into the demon's warm embrace.


End file.
